The voices inside my head are taking over
They're telling me that my life is in danger
I'm scared that the silence won't come back forever
I believe this is my darkest hour
“I can't change you or your mindset…” Durant spelled it out to Fang. “Anything that makes you, You. That isn't something I can or will change either so don't worry about that.” The kid wasn't so unknown to him as Durant pretended that he was. Durant had also looked the kid up in any of the government databases he figured the kid could be in and gotten more information. The youngster in front of him had quite the record it turned out and not as chance encounter as he might think. When he first had connected the dots it had almost felt like it was meant to be. But as Durant saw it, that was all in the past. Today and all the tomorrows left in this kid's life were still blank. Fresh. Clean. There was still time to make today better than yesterday. All days would not be not perfect and grade A of course, but hopefully better than most of his yesterdays. IF the kid was willing to put in some effort, Durant was willing to offer the support needed.
“Your addiction…” Durant continued, “that shit is what it is too. The only one that can decide over that is you as well. All of that shit is not why you are here. What I can offer is that I can help you get back on your feet and give you a secure platform that won't go out under you. A safe place that won't go away. Talk shit to me if it makes you feel better but I won't budge on my offer. I will be the one that has your back, no matter what.”
“The only thing I want back from you is the same respect I give you. I want you to respect the house too. I expect you to clean up after yourself outside of your room, and to keep your room cleaned and the bed made. Respect the doctor when he comes. Do that daily and you get a joint or whatever to keep you on this planet and what makes the demons shut the fuck up.” Durant knew it was bribery. Giving the kid more drugs when he was already addicted didn't make that part better, but keeping yourself physically clean and the area around you was the first step to getting some sort of structure in life.
"I'm not a fucking dog," Fang growled, leaning forward and hanging his head over the table. "Look, I'll fucking play nice as a thanks for the joint and the shower but I don't need the help you're offering. I-" He set his closed fist on the table, staring at it like it was having a conversation with him. "Shit," he muttered under his breath, having a hard time keeping any kind of reasonable composure as he hunched over again, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. He was so tired but so wired at the same time.
"I'm not asking a lot. I can fucking handle my own shit." His heart was pounding so fast, he could swear it was in his eardrums. "I've done this on my own before. I can do it again. I just need this shit gone." He slammed his fist on the table. He willed himself to force his hand to open and drop the baggie of white powder on the table. He knew he couldn't look at it or it'd be over. He swiped at it to slide it over to Durant. "I just need that to get the fuck away from me. I swear to fuck… I was gonna hit that whole fucking bag in your bathroom just now. Fuck."
His body trembled knowing it was just a couple of feet away. He could make a mad swipe for it and run out the door and no one could stop him. Fang squeezed his eyes shut and slid the razor blade across the table too. He was willingly and knowingly disarming himself. "Spare me the lectures. I fucking know what this is like. This isn't the first time I've been hooked on coke and-" he fought back a couple of coughs- "probably won't be the last.”
He pushed back from the table, "I'm not gonna waste your time, dude. Just tell me where the nearest bridge to crash under is because if you think I'm going to be able to make a bed in the fucking morning after the night I'm about to have full of shitting my brains out and wanting to tear my face off, let me just spare your ass the disappointment." Trust no one. Deal with your own shit you started.
"Fuck, nevermind," he crumpled again, resting his forehead in his hand leaned against the table. He stretched his hand out, waving for the bag, "Give it back. I'll get rid of it. Forget it. I can do it. I can't be here. Where ever the fuck here is." He flapped his fingers again, gesturing for him to toss the bag over. Please don't, the quiet voice of reason begged. He desperately didn't want that bag back.
Without making any comments, Durant took the bag and the blade and put them away. “You ain’t a waste of time...I don't plan to give up on you, kid, just because the road is bumpy. Didn't plan to let you deal with tonight alone, just so you know. This doesn't scare me. Not gonna wipe your ass after you shit your brains out but, as I said. I have your back.”
I pray over and over again
That this won't be my end
I still have a long life to live
I'm begging you, begging you
I can't remember the last time
That I said goodbye, or that I even tried
I'm becoming afraid, it's already to late
I'm on my knees, please help me stay alive
This was really happening. He had been on autopilot for weeks now, just living however he saw fit for the moment. No planning, no goals, no reason. And now, all at once, the clarity of what he was doing was sinking in. Like running blind and then realizing his feet weren't on the ground anymore. He had run off a cliff and was staring down a deep dark pit. Maybe falling was so easy because there wasn't any other option.
Being combated with generosity was too bizarre to Fang. This dude was so relentless in providing this safe haven for what? For some chewed up piece of trash sprawled out on his floor looking pissed off at the world but too damn trashed to do anything about it. "You're a real stubborn shit. I wouldn't ever fucking do what you're doing. People like me fucking suck. I don't blame anyone for pretending I don't exist. And this is mostly the weed talking," he held out one of his hands that he was having a hard time keeping from shaking. Yea, definitely the weed. Shit's hitting the fan already.
"But whatever it's worth, thanks. I do fight every fucking day of my life to be a bastard to everyone that thinks I can't make it, including myself. So I'm gonna go have the worst night of my life and hope I just black out through most of it." Fang gave a peace sign and took the water bottle with him back towards the room he had woken up in.
He shut the door out of the best courtesy he could offer. Did that guy really know how bad this was all going to be? Who would invite an addict to go through their withdrawals to their house? Fang felt a tremor travel through his body already just thinking about it. Good thing this wasn't his first go at this. He already knew what to expect.
But it was far worse than the times before. The shakes set in hard followed by the profuse cold sweating. Then came the dire need for the toilet. At one point, his body couldn't decide which end was better to expel all the poison. His throat hurt so bad, it felt like it had been ripped open with barbed wire which only made him choke. And then the hallucinations paid a visit. He hadn't had those in the past. They caught him off guard.
He was half-conscious when he thought he was on a train. He stood to get off at his stop. He was supposed to go to Chris's house…but totally fell over, thinking the train had applied the brakes but in reality, he just toppled over where he stayed, dazed and confused. Then the skull-splitting migraine and cramps racked his body. He swore loudly at his addiction mocking him, telling him to enjoy his suffering. This was all his choice, after all.
I hope this isn't my last night
As I lose my mind, and try to save my life
I'm becoming afraid, it's already too late
I'm on my knees, please help me stay alive
Once there was nothing left of him but water, he could finally crawl into bed. He should have probably stayed on the bathroom floor where he couldn't spread his disgusting sweaty, musky body but he was so exhausted. He hadn't had real sleep in days that weren’t just from blackouts. He pulled the pillows over his throbbing head, shaking underneath the covers but stuck in that horrible mix where he felt so cold but was drenched in sweat while his body fought to heal itself.
Fang knew he was in the thick of it now. Sober thoughts were coming to the surface and that sucked the most about getting clean. Let's remember every bad choice from childhood to present. Hooray. Let's remember every bad thought we've ever had because why not? What else did he have to dwell on? He hated being addicted to hard drugs because he didn't like being controlled by shit but he hated being sober more.
And just right on cue to ruin his day. The doctor checked in. Fang was immediately put off. These assholes never let anyone have any fun with their bodies. Always eat healthy, no smoking, don’t do drugs, no perscription drugs if you don’t need them, that’ll be $1,000,000 to stick a finger in someone’s ass, blah blah blah. He was barely cooperative. Meaning he didn’t want to answer any questions like a civilized human being.
“How long have you had a cough?”
“Eat my ass.”
“Do you experience any light headed spells?”
“Suck my dick.”
“Shortness of breath?”
“Fuck off.”
“I’m going to listen to your lungs. Just take a deep breath in and hold it until I say then slowly breathe out.”
He didn’t say anything in that regard. Just laid still, hunched in a ball, pissed off. He wasn’t playing the game. He shrugged a shoulder, when the doctor felt the side of his neck then reached down further to reach the other side. “Do something nice with those hands, would ya?”
The doctor was used to Durant’s “unwilling” patients on the rare occasions he was summoned to come give a checkover. Much like Durant, he had seen a thing or two that regular humans just shouldn’t witness. A crabby young man in the throes of withdrawal was nothing shocking. He used to try and be a little more gentle in his approach but learned over time while they were in this state, just treat them as a dog and move on. He was less accommodating than Durant in that aspect. Pneumonia, bronchitis, swollen lymph nodes, potentially ulcers, the patient was a wreck. Antibiotics and a dose of good luck with the side effects of mild sedation for temperament.
Some kept the addict kids under such supervision it got the reversed effect. Doing exactly those things that had made the kids rise up against their ‘guardians’ in the first place. Rule after rule, and hell to pay if the rules weren't followed to the dot. Durant wasn't a father as far as he knew, and therefore he didn't act as one either. He didn't even try. He offered himself, and whatever help he could provide. He gave options, if one picked A - this would happen, if they picked B - that would happen. Always their choice. They all got the chance to leave after all of the heavy drugs were out of their system. When they could make a decent choice with their own brain.
It's just to much to handle
I feel myself turn into stone
Desperate, as the voices linger
There's nothing left for me, please save my soul
I'm running out of time
I can feel the words crawling down my spine
I'm running out of time
(I can't remember the last time)
Coming in and out of consciousness, Fang wasn’t sure when he was asleep or if he was just staring at the wall without a thought occurring for hours at a time. It was one part torture to feel like he couldn’t move a limb and one part sweet ecstasy not to have to hear the shit running through his thoughts. He didn’t pity how his body shook and ached. Good. He knew it was coming. No one to blame but himself.
He hated that he ever went back. Knew it was a bad idea, knew he'd be in a state just like this, and knew he didn't care because his dumbass brain couldn't give a shit about anything and it pissed him off. He wasn't blind to the shit he was doing. He just struggled to make it stop.
The hours got shorter or longer…he couldn’t exactly tell but time was starting to make sense again. He could shuffle outside on a closed-in portion of a yard. A fucking compound, Fang felt. He had landed himself in what felt like a jail for dumbasses that couldn’t give up shit that destroyed themselves.
He wondered where his band was. The most recent one anyway. He had been so stoned out of his brains, he couldn't remember what kind of terms he left on. He couldn't even remember what they had done last? Was it a gig? Or did they do a gig and he stayed backstage, snorting up a storm instead? Did they drop him off at that club? No…Fang remembered the faintest memory of him leaving…maybe a studio and…
He sighed heavily, hanging his head. He remembered. Remembered why his phone was gone too. He didn't just leave it like the rest of his shit, wherever that was. No, he chucked his phone across a highway, aiming for a river. That had been his bitchass way to decline a call from Christopher Burton. "Good fucking job," he berated himself again. "Ya know, normal people just hang up. Noooo, no, we have to throw it in a fucking river. Throw yourself in a fucking river, dumbass…"
Take my hand, don't let me fade away
Don't let me fade away, don't let me die today
Take my hand, I'll pray for you today
I beg to see another day, don't let me die today
Take my hand, don't let me fade away
Don't let me fade away, don't let me die today
Take my hand, I'll pray for you today
I beg to see another day, don't let me die today, die today
But Fang quickly learned the “compound” was nothing like any jail floor he had slept on before. If he played nice and behaved, Durant offered rewards and not the kind toddlers brushed their teeth for. Take the doctor’s pills, get joints in return. Sweet heavenly joints.
He did get Fang's attention, for sure, but it came with reasonable doubt and skepticism. He wasn't skeptical of the offer, just the motive behind it. "I'm good, really. Appreciate the place to lose my fucking mind overnight, wild shit. Look, my brain cells are fucking shot and I can’t keep up with what the fuck you want from me, why I'm here - like, I know why I came back to the club - I was gonna hit the last of my shit and sleep under a couch for eternity to get off it. But why am I here," he specifically gestured to the ground around him, this house, compound, rehab, whatever the hell this all was. "Just let me crash the night and I'll have my shit ready to go in the morning."
“For as long as you are sick you are staying here...” Durant stated. Not a question. “After that, you can go if you want, but you are welcome to stay if you like. I'm Peter fucking Pan, didn't you know? This is Neverneverland and you are one of the lost boys...” A slight eye roll.
“Honestly...I've done a lifetime of shitty things...” A slight pause “Guess I wanted to make a change for some people...but not changing them, who they are...just helping them with whatever fuck I could. Bounce back whatever crap they got themselves into. Be the wingman or backup to those that don't have it.”
“When you are well,” Durant continued, “I have a gig for you so you can earn some cash...nothing advanced, it's honest work, you even get your own transportation...2-3h per night. Money you are free to do whatever with. Perhaps three or four nights per week. If you accept the gig, you will have to sign the paper to show you are committed to the task. One week is the minimum for you to try it out. You don't have to decide now, take the time you need on it.” He wasn't sure if Fang ever would get a ‘normal’ job, but Durant at least wanted the kid to do something, feeling perhaps that he could earn his own cash without being trash.
A place to take a breath.
In the same beat that he was honestly thinking of what a break might feel like, he felt hot all over and sweat started to fill his pores followed by the shakes. "Fuck me," he muttered to himself. Fang slumped his head into his hand, grinning hopelessly. He even chuckled as he took the pills from Durant. "Maybe it's still the crack talking, but I'm pretty sure you just sent my body into shock. Look at this shit," he laughed as the pills jostled around in his hand that wouldn't hold still. Fang found it immensely amusing, losing control like that. "Sad as fucking shit. I was thinking, damn, he makes this sound pretty fucking nice. And then my next thought was, fuck… but if I'm better, I'm not hurting. And if I'm not fucking hurting, then what the fuck will I feel? That's some fucked up shit."
Fang chucked the pills back, willing himself to swallow even if it felt like a strand of barbed wire. "That's my real addiction," he said with a gravelly voice. "I'm a masochistic motherfucker. There's not a cure I'll ever be willing to take for that."
Failure has been a part of his life since childhood. Disappointment was just another trait like his eyes were green; just a fact of his being he couldn’t change. He walked the same as anyone else, had to eat like everyone else, sat down and shit like everyone else. There was nothing special about him just as there was nothing special about anyone else. His problems were no different than a basic bitch getting the wrong coffee order. So what if his mind tried to kill him on the regular? He was still here. As to why, whoever would know the answer?
What day was it? What time was it? Where were his “friends”? Did anyone care he was just gone? How would he know? He tossed the only form of communication he had into a river because he let his impulsive actions do everything for him. The answer was obvious. Much like he left his home and no one came looking. Why would they? This is what Fang did. Disappeared. People only looked when it was uncharacteristic or suspicious. This is what he had always wanted, why start feeling sorry for his decisions now?
Fang jerked awake again!
Only this time he was totally laid out on the ground soaked in the rain. His fingers throbbed and his body felt contorted. He glanced down and saw his legs tangled up in a chair. “Fuck,” he sighed in defeat. He had made an attempt to escape, to disappear again. He knew it was too slippery to try. Had to have slipped off and toppled the chair over with him going down with it. There was no escaping his reality. Not this time.
“Need any help to get up, Fang?” There was Durant at the open door, looking at him in the rain. He had seen it all on his hidden cameras in his own house to keep an eye on the guests he brought in. It's ok if you want to...borrow stuff, as long as you put it back as you found it. If something breaks when you use it, let me know right away. Hiding shit only makes it worse. Chop, chop, sleeping beauty...you will get another visit from your favorite doc if you lay out there for any longer... If you can't walk you can crawl. Don't forget the chair, please.”
Fang hadn’t come in quietly. Begrudgingly, even as he dragged the stupid chair back. He peeled off the wet clothes and dropped to his bed, groaning, "I gotta get the fuck out," he said much calmer but a touch of desperation to his voice. "I can't do this. I'm so sick and fucking tired of my fucking problems being the only thing anyone gives a shit about. I get that you want to be a white knight psychopath but fuck me dude, I just… if I were anyone else without all the shit I carry, who the fuck would care anyway?" Fang was having some kind of existential crisis about his self worth; a common spark for resistance. "Find someone else," he started to mutter quietly, "that can appreciate what you're trying to do. I am fucked. I don't even know where I was going to go." Just drift away in the rain.
Silently, Durant picked up the wet pants and shirt and hung them up in the bathroom to dry. Then he went and fetched a dry change of clothes from a drawer, placing it on the bed. “During your time here...” Durant began as he sat down “I'm not going to be able to ‘fix’ anything with you, aside from getting you well from the pneumonia. That is not why I do this. The other ‘problems’....if it's the druguse you talk of...I can't ‘right’ you from the same ‘wrongs’ I'm in. I have my reasons for it, so you must have that too, I guess. For me, Fang, you are NOT a problem. Things just have become a bit tilted in your life. I can help you with getting life a little less tilted. Not perfect, but...a little bit better...in time.
He let it sink in a little. It wasn't a lecture. Perhaps a smidge on the speech side but... “Sure, I could have picked any of the gutter rats out there. It's a big world after all. But I decided to help you. Don't think I picked just out of random. One day you will figure things out.” His own path had taken him further than he had ever guessed. “Dry up so you don't get any more cold.”
Probably if Fang were honest out loud, something he usually had no issue with, he only felt annoyed because deep down, he didn't want to be anything special or be treated with unconditional care. Too many years of neglect and oppression punished his esteem and self-worth. And even removed from the source, he only continued to punish himself in its place. He was, at least, convinced Christopher Durant was a psychopath. A nice one.
To say Fang behaved was a stretch of the imagination. Over the next couple of days, Fang toed the line at any given moment and of course, always had something to say in return, often crude and unnecessary things. Putting the chair back didn’t happen immediately. Then cleaning it off happened even slower. He knew he was being treated like a dog and it pissed him off. But much like a dog, the rewards were too good to turn down.
He knew he could have probably asked for a computer, a phone, or internet access of some kind. But anytime he thought about it, all he could think about was what he’d find. If it was anything like the past when he would go on benders and disappear, it would be a few things. Bandmates and gig managers absolutely pissed off at him for going MIA telling him to fuck off and remind him he wasn’t getting his money back. Maybe a couple of genuinely nice people asking where he was but more often they were in cahoots with the prior and fishing for information under the facade of a kind person. Or worse yet, seeing absolutely nothing because no one noticed he was gone or wasn’t surprised. So he just kind of…didn’t care to have any of that access. Sure, his brain was struggling with finding things to do but at least he wasn’t stuck eternally doom-scrolling.
Fang’s next attempt to get outside came from a different angle. One where he promised not to throat-punch the doctor. That should earn him a walk even on a leash, Fang didn’t care. He just needed to see something other than the same set of walls and ceilings. He wasn’t out of the woods just yet as the doctor was going to check his blood work for anything else that may be roaming his veins as things were beginning to heal but the cough was still a point of worry. It did, however, grant Fang five minutes in the front yard.
Fang wasn't the first one that was starting to climb the walls after a few days of nothing. Around Durant’s bungalow there were electrical lines dug down into the ground. They worked the same way an invisible fence did, only this wasn't made for a dog. And if he tried to make a run for it...he would instantly regret it. Piercings sometimes left metal traces, even faint ones of the type metal used. Those findings had been programmed to the activator so if it was crossed over - the one with that type of metal on them would feel it. The power was set on just a little above what it was for a dog. It would be clearly felt, but wasn't harmful.
Making a beeline for the farthest corner he could go before getting to the fence. He stopped, staring all around him. A far cry from the dystopian compounds he imagined. The first thing he noticed immediately was how well maintained everything looked in all directions. No scraggly yards or unkempt treelines. He glanced back, looking at what exactly Durant’s place looked like. He sneered at what he thought were the tall walls around the garden and was sure what he was seeing were even taller walls. He gave Durant a suspicious squint before looking back at the scenery.
Why not jump the fence? He stepped closer to it, craning to see anything beyond the trees but the leaves were all budded out and covering what might look like other buildings in the distance. As he leaned a little closer, he swore he felt a slight tingle that he hadn't felt in years but knew it very well. He took one step back, looking down at the fence. Was that thing hot? He brought his hand a little closer and didn't feel that familiar tingle of electric fencing. But when he leaned closer, he swore his ears were itching and then he felt the hair in his arms raise slightly, ever so slightly. Had to be hot. Wasn't very tall to keep people from jumping it… why not jump it…? He grew suspicious. Durant’s endless action/consequence when not following directions was getting to Fang's head.
And then curiosity got the better of him. The corner closer to the house, he just had to know. He tapped a knuckle against the fence post swiftly, walking along. Nothing. He reached a hand out casually over the top of the fence, no biggie, but could feel the tingle that came before the snap. Much like he had in his youth, to win the bets to see who could last the longest grabbing a hot wire, he grabbed a hold of the fence, daring it to shock him. He squinted and let go before it became too obvious what he was doing. It hadn't shocked him but he could swear he felt the hum like it should have.
He turned back without provocation and headed back to the house, figuring it was getting close to time. He stuck a thumb out in the direction he saw the buildings behind the trees and asked, "What's over there? The buildings."
Glancing at his watch Durant also had to give it to the kid that he seemed to have a fairly decent ‘internal’ clock. The kid was making his way back to him with about a minute or so to spare. Briefly he met the others gaze before looking over in the direction he had pointed. Not that Durant actually had to look as he knew well what was over in that direction. A brow slowly rose. “That over there? Pemberley Park.”
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